I am the aggied oak ,
. . . a hold fast of reality .
Now autumn's shield has been lifted
and cold chills my scaly limbs ,
. . . adorned in acorned memory ,
buried beneath the fragile leaves
. . . I will do as you ask of me ,
forget all , so be it as you please .

My thoughts of love
are now hollowed out empty words ,
that fall far from from my presence . . .
like autumn's flying leaves.
The sentences of given grieves ,
can no more bare . . .
the crunch of forgotten feet .
Life naked , stricken ,
stripped down bare . . .
falls the last days of autumnal leaves .
The evening wind sends leaves racing .
So stoic now will I pretend . . .
as the cold chill embraces ,
all my baren limbs .